Note of Realisation
by Cray Queen of Angst
Summary: Tom and Harry share a bond no one ever knew about. As they grew, circumstances kept bringing them together. Neither really understood how or why, and neither of them ever questioned it. Until a series of hideously colored post-it notes made everything make sense.


****It was Tom's first day at Hogwarts University. He had arrived at 8 am, well before the first rush of freshmen arrived, but late enough that he didn't appear like those desperate kids. Those souls, aching to leave their homes in search of the freedom that University offered. Those who tried to leave the past behind and move on with the rest of their lives.

 _No_.

Tom refused to follow that trail of thought, knowing where it would lead him. Instead, the young, dark-haired man walked up to the building with the word _Slytherin_ chiseled into the stone. He took in his surroundings with a smirk. So far, the Slytherin house building seemed far more elegant than the other buildings, with its stone walls, dark, tinted windows, and a lush green grass surrounding the area.

A sour shade colored Tom's face. It was clear to him that none of his housemates were here because of a scholarship. But, he was determined to not allow this to have any effect on him or his classes. He had arrived at Hogwarts with one purpose in mind, and nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling that.

That was until he arrived in his dorm.

Despite not having seen the boy in years, Tom could tell Harry Potter hadn't changed one bit. He wore a fancy looking pair of round glasses that greatly resembled that greatly resembled the pair lost long to the past, and his hair still looked like it won all of its fights with the comb every morning. And though Tom couldn't see it, he could only imagine the shape of the peculiar lightning-shaped scar that adorned his forehead.

There were, however, a few changes Tom was unable to not notice. Like how Harry seemed to have grown out of his lanky frame, filling out his clothes in a lean, healthy aspect that Tom envied. He also seemed to have gotten taller, though it was hard to tell just how much from his vantage point by the door.

Harry had already laid claim to half of their shared room. The walls on his side were already cluttered with an obscene amount of band and sports posters. The boy's bed was piled high with both pillows and clothes Tom suspected were not entirely clean if the faint smell of jam and cheese was anything to go by.

Harry was in the process of trying to properly connect his Xbox to their shared TV and was about to sit on Tom's bed when the older boy decided it was best to alert him of his presence. God only knew what sort of diseases he might contract if the boy's arse came in contact with his bed. "I do hope you brought along a headset to connect to your game console, otherwise you and I will have a long four years ahead of us," he said and then watched in carefully guarded satisfaction as Harry froze before springing straight up and turning to the door.

"Oh, hey Tom," Harry said, embarrassment beginning to color his face. Harry walked the small space separating their beds to settle down on top of his clothes before speaking again. "I didn't know if you were going to attend HU, with, what, Harvard and Yale offering you a scholarship and all."

Entering the room and closing the door behind him, Tom shrugged and carefully set his suitcases on the bed before taking a seat beside his things. "Us orphans need to stick together, do we not?" he asked casually, blinking rapidly and swallowing while trying to keep his face passive, never one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, instead opting for polite indifference. Why was the knowledge that Harry had kept an ear out for things about him making his stomach twist in a not uncomfortable manner?

Harry chuckled, his shoulders sagging briefly, but Tom noticed it wasn't really a relaxing motion. "I guess we do.

"So, what's your schedule going to be like?" he asked, changing topics as he managed to free his schedule from his back pocket and holding it out for Tom to take.

Tom welcomed this change of subject, knowing well that Wool's was an untouchable and extremely uncomfortable topic to bring up. Reaching out, Tom took the crumbled piece of paper from his hands to skim over its contents, comparing it to the schedule stored in his own head. "We don't appear to have any classes together this semester," he noted before handing Harry his schedule back.

Harry shrugged, taking the sheet and folding it before stuffing it back in his pockets. "Eh, maybe next semester," he said. "Though I'll probably end up moving to the Gryffindor building by then."

Tom frowned at that. "Why would you be doing that?" he asked.

"Oh, er," Harry shifted uncomfortably; whatever he was going to say, Tom was sure it was something the younger boy thought would upset him. "I was supposed to be lodged at the Gryffindor building, but all the dorm rooms were occupied already, and since Slytherin had an opening, they put me here."

Tom allowed a small pause to process what he had heard before answering. "Gryffindor huh? Isn't that where all the Criminology majors and jocks are stocked in?" he asked, an amused smirk stretching his lips. "So does that mean you got that sports scholarship you always bragged about getting someday?

Harry laughed at that; whatever tension he had left his body at the simple act. "Guilty as charged," he said. "And I got to say, I'm only slightly surprised to see you in this building. Everyone says that the Slytherin building is for the entitled children of politicians and lawyers. "

"Now, why ever would you say that?" Tom inquired, a tight, obviously forced smile, pulling at his lips. Was Harry insinuating Tom did not belong among the crowds that roamed the building's halls?

Sensing he was suddenly threading very dangerous waters, Harry answered carefully, or as carefully as he could as he stumbled over his words. "Oh I'm just,... well, you don't… You're not the most patient person I know Tom. I mean, you are patient, I mean…you like your desert cold and all that… but, um - I er-... You know what, I'm just going to …. Er… grab a bite to eat!" he suddenly explained, jumping to his feet.

"You do that, Potter," Tom said tersely, turning his back to the boy and starting to unpack.

* * *

Harry and Tom avoided each other the rest of the semester, something that was made easier by the fact that neither of them shared any classes together, nor did they run in the same social circles, meaning the two boys didn't share so much as a glance in the Quad.

Tom was perfectly fine with that. He had no problem being nothing more than the person Harry shared a living space with. Although, it was hard to avoid Harry within the confines of their dorm room, what with the raven-haired boy's pestering him to listen to his apologies. Which Tom did, if only to get Harry to shut his yap and leave him alone.

He should have known it was useless; Harry never did know when to give up. He didn't back down at the orphanage when the younger children were harassed by the older kids, and he did not give up on the hope that one day someone would come to Wool's and adopt him, something that came in handy when Sirius Black had swooped in one day with his lawyer to whisk Harry away, apparently the man was Harry's Godfather. Harry had been unbearably happy that day, even going as far as to return that same night with new clothes, toys, and utilities for everyone at the orphanage.

Tom still carried around the black leather bound diary Harry had brought for him all those years ago.

So, keeping the boy's pigheadedness in mind, it did not surprise Tom at all when he woke one mid-December morning, precisely two weeks before classes let out for winter vacations, to the sight of Harry's chicken scratches on a hot pink colored post-it on the door. Tom had nearly missed the small piece of paper, a surprising feat given its horrendous color, but he was in a hurry and did not wish to be in the room much longer than what was necessary.

 _Sirius wants me home for the winter hols, So I won't be on campus._

 _You need to get over your sensibilities and forgive me already you prat._

 _I meant it as a compliment, so stop being such a pansy and talk to me already._

 _Wanker_

Tom's eyes narrowed into slits at the blatant show of disrespect. Were it anyone else, he would have had them on the floor _bleeding_ for daring to address him in such a way. Ripping the offending piece of paper from the door, Tom strode over to Harry's bed and raised his arm, ready to deliver a harsh blow to the sleeping jock.

But at the sight of Harry's sleeping frame, sprawled all over his bed in a hazardous tangle of limbs and sheets, Tom could not bring himself to do so, and this infuriated him. And it wasn't because he was unable to strike the younger man. No, that wasn't it. After all, how could he strike the boy who had once taken a stone to the face for him? Well, perhaps Tom was upset about not being able to hit Harry, but in all honesty, it was the fact that Harry had resorted to _post-it notes_ to communicate with him, and in turn, cleverly broken Tom's vow of silence by not really breaking it at all.

And that was what didn't sit well with him.

Would it had been so hard for him to take the time and tell him in person?

And that alone had Tom contemplating striking the boy on pure principle. Sure they weren't exactly on speaking terms, but if the idiot could harass him for five minutes straight for being unreasonable, then he could have very well taken 30 seconds to tell him he wasn't going to be around, it might not have done much of a difference, but it would have been preferable to learning about this through a bloody _note_.

Glaring at the boy, Tom suddenly noticed the large bruise forming on Harry's bare shoulder causing him to hesitate, again. Briefly, Tom wondered if Harry had gotten himself into some sort of trouble, which was not completely unheard of given his history. Back at the orphanage, Harry had earned himself quite the reputation for his fights with the older children. Tom thought maybe Harry was up to his old shenanigans when he remembered that the school's rugby team held a game last evening. And figured the angry bruise expanding across Harry's whole shoulder and the better part of his clavicle was from that. He had most likely dislocated his shoulder.

With a sigh and one last glare at the offending pink slip, Tom turned towards his bed and grabbed the post-its he kept on his desk and quickly wrote out his reply, how Harry had managed to fit his scrawls on the small note baffled Tom. Once he was done Tom chose to stick his message to the top of Harry's rucksack instead of the door, he before leaving for his classes.

 _You need to work on your compliments, Your delivery is bloody awful._

 _Sports Scholarships, still depend on your grades, so don't discard your homework_

 _Should you require help, email me._

* * *

Over the course of their four-year tenure at HU, Harry and Tom continued to have conflicting schedules, never really spending more than a few hours in each others presence. Harry had chosen to remain in the Slytherin building, claiming it wouldn't be fair for him to go to the Gryffindor building only to, possibly, force someone else to have to live in a different house.

"I can barely tolerate your lot, I'm not about to put some poor soul through the torture that is living in the same building as a bunch of spoiled rich snobs." Harry had explained, his eyes firmly focused on the game he was playing.

"You wound me Harry, and here I thought you and I had something special going on," Tom said, crossing his arms at his chest and leaning against the wall watching in amusement as Harry's ears turned an alarming shade of red.

"Careful Riddle, keep saying shit like that and I'll have to start thinking you might have more than two feelings," Harry said after a comical pause where Harry tried not to choke while clearing his throat.

Tom arched a brow at the boy's awkward display. "It's not possible to only have two feelings, Harry," he stated matter of fact.

"Yeah, for normal people." Harry rolled his eyes, a teasing smirk starting to stretch the corner of his mouth. A smirk that disappeared when Tom tossed a pudding cup at the raven-haired boy and that was the end of that conversation.

And so, despite Tom's initial annoyance at the obscene amount of sticky notes Harry and he had to purchase to remain in communication, he had to admit it was an effective way to remain in touch without having to resort to ripping off entire pages out of a notebook for a simple line. Not to mention, it also meant that when Harry had _guests_ over, they had fewer things to snoop over, lest they get caught digging through the two boys' trash.

The eye-catching orange note he found that afternoon made Tom grateful they didn't keep in touch over a large sheet of paper.

 _Prof. Dumbledore keeps questioning me about you._

 _I don't think he knows we_ know _each other._

 _Weed? Really? That doesn't seem like something you would trouble yourself with._

Tom growled as he ripped the small paper to pieces. Damn Albus Dumbledore. Ever since Tom's arrival at the school, the man seemed to have developed a sort of vendetta against him for no other reason that he appeared to be the only orphan at the school. The old man would constantly waltz into whatever class he was currently seated to _observe_ the young minds at work and would take every opportunity to belittle whatever his response to a question would be.

Tom took a deep breath to calm himself, it wasn't Harry's fault the mention of Dumbledore had put him in such a foul mood before he picking up a pen and a vibrant purple slip to write out his reply.

 _For the sake of appearances, you and I are nothing more than roommates._

 _If he questions you again, I'll handle it._

 _How else do you expect me to pay for my meals?_

* * *

When Tom and Harry graduated Hogwarts, Harry had been immediately recruited to the police force, and on account of the connections his godfather had, his criminology degree and his physical conditions, he wouldn't even need to attend the academy full time, instead, he would be immediately integrated into the force. Tom, on the other hand, declined all of the multiple job offers he received before disappearing with nearly half of the alumni of their graduating Slytherin class.

Nearly 5 years later, no one knew what Tom Riddle was up too. Not even Harry. And given Potter's current job as a law enforcer, that was probably a good thing. But that also made things difficult for them when their paths crossed again one late evening in July, some days before Harry's 28th birthday. The man in question and his partner were out patrolling, Harry's partner, Ron Weasley, was trying to set the world record for the most amount of rubbish a person could say in a single breath, and when their radio picked up chatter about trespassers in a hospital Harry eagerly jumped at the opportunity to stop the redhead from trying to set him up with his sister, however futile that turned out to be. Ron made Harry miss the torture that was sharing a locker room with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle

"Jesus Weasley, I'm not interested in your sister, so could you just drop it already?" Harry snapped in exasperation when they got to the site, an old abandoned hospital with it's _No Trespassing_ sign laying at the foot of the clearly opened fence. "Stay by the car, if I need your assistance I'll radio you." and with that said, Harry left the redhead behind to stumble over his words while he entered the building.

As Harry walked the empty, rat-infested halls of the old hospital, he couldn't help but feel like something was going to go terribly wrong. Every instinct Harry had was telling him to turn around and leave the place and not return, or to at least to return to his partner's side.

Just as he decided it was best for him to trust his gut and leave, Harry heard noises coming from the far end of the hall.

He should have just left. What came next, Harry would regret for the rest of his life.

When he reached what Harry assumed had been the hospitals OR floor, he was shocked to see Tom resting casually against a wall while another man, one who looked far too much like the Blaise Zabini they had attended the university with, loomed over another man whom Harry did not recognize and beating him repeatedly.

Harry remained frozen for a long moment, unable to do anything other than watch as his mind struggled to understand what he was seeing. Harry Potter and Tom Riddle had known each other since infancy, had grown up together at Wool's Orphanage. So Harry had always known that Tom had a dark side, but never did Harry think he would be capable of violence. Well, at least not in this aspect.

Growing up Harry had always been the violent one, though it was pure recklessness on his part and not actual violence, Harry liked to think he always ended the fights, not started them. Tom, on the other hand, had been a master of making things seem like accidents. Like that one time Harry had taken a stone to the head for sticking up for Tom to one of the older kids and a few days later they were all confined to their beds on accounts of food poisoning.

Harry knew Tom was dangerous, but today, as he watched Tom lazily pull himself from his comfortable spot to loom threateningly over the man Zabini had been beating the life out of and pull out a gun and shooting the broken man between the eyes, Harry learned that Tom was _lethal._

Harry didn't really understand how he managed to pull out his gun and walk forward, his mind still struggling to process everything he had seen in the last 5 minutes. All he knew was that he couldn't let Tom just leave.

"Freeze!"

Harry saw as the blue-eyed man tensed as he recognized the voice.

Tom slowly turned to face his childhood friend, quick to hold a hand up to stop his associates from shooting him. "Lower your weapons."

"Drop your weapons and get on your knees!" Harry shouted, slowly inching closer, struggling to keep his gun aimed at Tom.

"Harry, list-"

"I said on your fucking knees, Riddle!" Harry had snapped, grabbing his firearm at Tom's face and trying desperately to ignore the sounds of the safety being switched off of the various guns aimed at him.

"Stand down!" Tom growled, letting his temper get the better of him, something that caused some of his associates to hesitate and slowly lower their guns at the officer's next order to do so.

Carefully, Harry inched closer to the group and fishing out a pair of cuffs from his belt. "Hands behind your back Riddle."

"Harry listen to me."

"I said hands behind your back!" Harry snapped again and made a grab at Tom's arm. He should have known that was a bad idea, because the next thing he knew, the impact of a bullet lodging itself in his shoulder had his flat on his back followed by the sound of a second shot and a body dropping to the floor a few feet away from him.

"Damnit Harry, I told you to listen!" Tom had snapped at him while trying to keep the pressure on the wound, something Harry was making rather difficult with all his struggling and snarling orders not to touch him.

"S-stop! Police!" a new voice shouted before opening fire, and Harry's heart nearly stopped when Tom crashed on top of him before he the older man reached over for his gun and returned fire.

Harry managed to crawl out of the way, taking advantage of Tom's distracted state to find some cover and call for more back up. "Harry, Harry are you alright? Oh, bloody hell yer bleeding mate!" Ron yelled, eyes wide when he came to stand beside Harry, who was rather confused as to how the redhead had managed to get so close without him noticing.

"I'm fine Ron, just hand me your spare and shut up!" Harry snapped, reaching for the spare gun on Ron's belt, ignoring the hurtful glance he was given.

"I was only trying to-"

Whatever his partner was going to say next was cut off when a bullet lodged itself right between his partner's eyes. Leaving Harry to stare in horror as the man he had been calling his partner for as long as he had been in the force drop to the ground, dead, with that shocked look of hurt forever be frozen in his face.

"Stop shooting you imbeciles!" Tom growled once again when he saw the other officer fall to the floor. Standing to his feet and leaving his cover he slowly made his way to Harry's side, approaching the frozen man like he would a wounded deer or a sleeping lion, quietly and very carefully. "Harry, you need to listen to me, have you-"

"Just shut up Tom!" the younger man finally snapped.

There was a pregnant pause as everyone in the room tried to understand what was happening, broken only when chatter came from the radio at Harry's shoulder stating back up was heading to their location and Tom once again tried to speak to the green-eyed man crouching over his partner's body. "Harry I need to leave

"Leave then," Harry had said, sounding defeated, and Tom wasted no time in doing so.

Later that night, when Harry got to his flat, he found a note resting atop his pillow.

 _My man will turn himself in, there will be justice for your partner's' death._

 _His lawyer will be mediocre at best._

 _Do not blame yourself, Harry._

And from his vantage point on the building across the street, Tom was able to see Harry rip the slip to shreds before doing the same to the rest of his flat.

* * *

It wasn't after the incident that Tom and Harry's paths crossed again. Harry, no a ranking official in his precinct.

After the death of his partner, Ron, Harry had thrown himself into his work and rose incredibly quick through the ranks. Harry wanted to find Tom Riddle, and he wouldn't stop until he was behind bars.

However, when Tom reached out to Harry in what he could only assume was an attempt to mend the relationship the two shared. Harry could not bring himself to do so.

Instead, he was forced to listen to Riddle's countless apologies and attempts to make amends. Eventually, Harry forgave Tom, no matter how much it pained him to do so. Tom had betrayed him, in a way, and Harry could never really forget that.

But, orphans tended to stick together.

And if you couldn't count on a fellow orphan to have your back, then was there anything you could really count on?

So, Tom helped further Harry's career as an officer of the law, and in turn, Harry would turn a blind eye and close his ears to anything regarding Toms affairs. Just because he was suddenly a dirty cop, did not mean that Harry would intentionally look for more things to further incriminate him. That and it saved him a couple hundred hours of paperwork, but that was just a bonus.

Tom also took it upon himself to fix Harry's flat all those years ago after Harry had practically demolished the place. He had brought in a crew while Harry was away, and when the officer had returned home that night with numerous bags filled with cleaning supplies he had been both flattered and beyond mad to find his flat in far better conditions than when he had moved in and a dark green note stuck to the bedside lamp.

 _Please refrain from further damaging your flat._

Harry had been furious and wrecked the flat once again out of spite. But after several repeats, Harry gave up and moved only to return home from a long day at the precinct to a note on his door with instructions to seize damaging his living place and the password credentials to the security system suddenly installed in his new flat.

Frustrated Harry had half a mind to take this back to the precinct and have it scanned. But Rey as he might he couldn't get his feet to move.

And so Harry stepped into his flat, his shoulders dropped in defeat. Despite popular opinion, Harry could recognize an olive branch when he saw one.

After that, it just became a frustratingly common occurrence for Tom to let himself into Harry's flat and leave him notes, meals and on one occasion to sleep on his bed.

 _You know it would be easier to just move in._

 _That way you could stop breaking in?_

 _I mean you already have a key, you might as well use it._

And not a month later Tom had moved into Harry's flat. After the initial argument of this being a horrible idea, and Tom's rebuttal that this was technically _his_ horrible idea, Harry agreed. And regretted it immediately after when Tom announced he would be sleeping in the master bedroom.

"But that's my room!" Harry had shouted.

"I need a better argument than that, Harold," Tom said, making Harry bristle.

Harry _loathed_ being called by his real name, that's why there were only two people alive who knew his full name. Harold made him feel ancient.

"Call me Harold _one more time_ Tom and I'll toss you out the bloody window." The raven-haired man threatened though he might as well have been trying to threaten a wall for all the effect it had on the other man. "You can't have my bedroom, you don't pay rent and the lease is under my name. So either you take up the spare bedroom or you can piss off."

To this, Tom arched a delicate brow, obviously amused. "Very well then, I'll suppose the spare bedroom will have to do." the man sighed. "Don't suppose you have any spare pillows do you? The one in my bedroom is awfully thin."

"I expect you to pay rent." Harry rolled his eyes and tossed a pillow at the blue-eyed pain in his arse.

"I'll make sure the deposits are made the first of every month," Tom assured. "I'll leave you some cash so you can get a few things for me tomorrow, I'll be sure to make a list." He said as he entered his bedroom.

"Now hold on a minute Riddle, I am not your errand boy," Harry said, taking great offense.

"No, you are not," Tom agreed. "Though for your sake, I wish to keep a low profile, as to not draw attention to myself." He explained.

"Oh, er, well, okay then." Harry nodded, flushing red. "G-good night Tom." He stammered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he quickly exited Tom's room.

"Good night Harry."

* * *

From the moment they were put in the same crib back at Wools, and again when they were assigned a dorm room back at HU, and to the date, the two young men had been living together. First, because they didn't actually have a choice, now out of habit, and, if they were being completely honest, necessary convenience.

It was, however, funny to know, that no matter how much their partnership evolved over the years, and how much the two grew in their respective fields, somethings would forever remain the same.

Like Harry's annoying habit of using his grooming products.

 _Used your shampoo, mine ran out._

 _Sorry,_

 _I'll buy some after work._

Tom rolled his eyes as he reached for the green piece of paper sticking to their bathroom mirror and tossed it in the trash, not bothering to leave a reply before he began to undress. "Typical," he muttered before he stepped into the shower.

* * *

Harry and Tom had been living in the same flat for two years. Harry now an honorary member of his organization, though not without its healthy amount of reluctance on his behalf, was able to continue to keep Tom and his men out of prison. Or at least those Tom deemed worthy of their freedom.

Tom arrived at the flat after two nights spent in unfamiliar beds and ran a tired hand through his hair, trying to get it to behave once again. He was exhausted, and other than a shower, he didn't really feel like dealing with anything at the moment.

He paused, blue eyes narrowing at the bright pink post-it note stuck on the bathroom door.

 _Dept. is getting antsy._

 _I need to give them a name or a lead_

Tom arched a delicate brow in amusement. He had half a mind to tell his roommate to tell his colleagues to stuff it, but he knew that there was nothing more dangerous to his line of work than restless law enforcers.

 _Evan Rosier._

 _3 days. DAG shipment._

 _16 Mansfield Rd, Clipstone, Mansfield NG21 9EH  
Clipstone Colliery._

Tom wrote quickly in a new note with a satisfied sneer. Evan Rosier had been getting on his last nerve as of late. He had been the only person, after all, who'd frequently expressed his displeasure over his dissent over the past months. Tom wasn't blind. He knew that Rosier felt as if his place was slipping, and if he was honest, he should have known that it was only a matter of time before prissy little Evan Rosier squealed to the police; Tom was only facilitating this, trusting that Harry would be able to ensure only the bare essential made it on to the official records.

Deciding that a shower was suddenly too much, he went back to his bedroom, toed off his shoes and sunk into the bed in a graceless heap.

* * *

Ton knew it would only be a matter of time before someone began to suspect Harry had an arrangement with Tom's _Death Eaters_.

For years, Harry had worked with Tom, and as a token of his appreciations, Tom had slingshot Harry's career on the force. Not even a year after the two had moved into the flat together, Harry had been promoted to detective, on account of the numerous arrests and solved cases. Most of which were regarding people who had pissed Tom off or had something he wanted, but Harry did what needed to be done. Even if it was to make himself feel better about the things he was involved in.

However, Tom didn't bring I to account that with Harry bringing in so many solved cases would bring him under the scrutiny of Harry's new partner, Detective Hermione Granger.

Tom arrived home one day to an empty flat, which had it been a weekday, Tim wouldn't have thought much about it. But it was a Friday night, and Harry was about as social as a brick, it struck Tom as odd.

Tom would never admit that whatever worries he had, disappeared at the sight of a neon blue note stuck to a take-out plate inside the fridge.

 _Hermione Granger is on my ass._

 _She thinks I know too much about you._

 _She's nosy Tom, and she's a darn good detective._

Tom growled. No way was he going to leave. Did Harry know how hard a good Safe House was to find in England?

It took Tom the remainder of the night to decide on what to do. After all, he doubted Harry would appreciate having another partner die. So the only other option was to learn everything he could on miss Granger and find her sweet spot.

 _I'll have Draco deal with Miss Granger._

 _Don't worry, she'll live a long and life._

 _Malfoy just so happens to be a perfect distraction._

And it worked, Malfoy kept miss Granger distracted enough until she lost her focus on Harry. Though it did sort of backfire on him when Malfoy began to lose sight of what his job was too.

Eventually, Tom had _two_ cops reluctantly working for him.

* * *

Tom was sore. So very sore.

There was a reason he chose to operate from behind the scenes, leaving the grunt work to his overeager associates. One would have thought that after the incident all those years ago, Tom would have learned that whenever he was present for any of his Death Eaters' operations, they all somehow always managed to get intercepted by the police. But if Tom didn't show, then how else was he supposed to fish out all of the moles in his organization.

He was going to say one thing though, getting shot was the worst.

Tom had woken up that day with a bad feeling churning in his gut. But he had dismissed it as indigestion and donned his clothes and left the apartment. When Tom got to Malfoy Manor, the current base of his operation, most of his Death Eaters were already busing themselves, be it counting the merch, or making sure it was properly packaged.

He walked the marble floors like he owned the place, and considering everything the three Malfoy men owed him, he might as well have.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, and Tom could not help the satisfied look on his face. Looking back, that had been his first mistake.

His second mistake had been allowing himself to be convinced to take two of the newest members on what was supposed to be a routine delivery by _Nott_ of all people. And all because the little snob wanted someone to do the work for them.

"It's simple really, you allow us a taste of the action, of the power, every once in a while." Theodore Nott had acknowledged. "Is it really so bad for us to do the same to those outside of the inner circle?"

Tom had let out a dark chuckle and gestured for Nott to go ahead. "I am nothing if not a fair leader," he had said. "Just make sure they're competent."

As it turned out, the two most competent members of his organization just so happened to be moles. Which was sad really, given how Finnigan had a natural ability with pyrotechnics Tom had only seen in films, and Thomas, that man could fight for _hours_. As it turned out, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had been passing on information to the NCA for the better part of a year.

Tom would hand it to the two agents, they had all of them convinced, so much so, that when they were ambushed at the location of their delivery in Bowerhill, no one suspected them. Even after their fight with the police was brought out and the whole thing turned into an all-out shootout in the middle of the town streets, Tom did not suspect the two men.

He had to hand it to them, they were very good actors. When they weren't caught off guard that is.

Tom, along with Seamus, Dean, Theodore, Draco, and Blaise were able to steal a minivan and raced out of the town only stopping once in Sandridge. Tom had never been grateful for Harry's horrible timing, but when the man in question rang him up to chide him for eating his food, Tom wasted no time in telling him about his current situation.

Which was how they ended up in the Sandridge woods. And how Tom learned the real identity of the two undercover agents.

They had been in the process of whipping the van clean of any evidence when Harry and Hermione arrived in two government-issued cars. Miss Granger had not yet finished killing her engine before she was jumping out of her vehicle and rushing to strangle the life out of her lover.

"What is she doing here?" Tom demanded furiously.

"Tom, relax, Hermione and I was having lunch when I called you," Harry explained. "Which is your fault by the way, and should you really be complaining, you'll be taking her van as a getaway."

Even as he argued with Harry, and made sure that his men were getting the car ready for them to leave, Tom still noticed how Dean stiffened at the sight of Harry and miss Granger joining them. He also noticed how the Irishman reached over and gripped his partner's hand in an attempt to stop him from reaching for his gun.

Unfortunately, Tom was unable to move Harry and himself out of their line of sight, and ended up and ended up getting shot in the side and the sounds of several shots firing left him momentarily deaf and unable to move out of the way to avoid being shot at again, causing another bullet to perforate his abdomen and exit out his back. Harry had to bark at Draco and miss Granger to stop their arguing and pull him out of the immediate line of fire, successfully helping him avoid the next round of shots.

As his men helped him on to the vehicle, he has shot again. Apparently, Seamus was both a pyromaniac and an excellent shot because next thing Tom knew, his shoulder was on fire and he was flat on his back bleeding out of yet another hole in his body.

The rest of the events happened very quickly, and all he remembered now was the look of Thomas and Finnigan on their knees, faces contorted in anger and they receiving a shot to the head before everything went black.

That had been four days ago, and he had spent the following week holed up in one of his underground medical facilities, and under threat of death and the condition that he would rest, his doctor agreed to release him.

The first thing he did was go to a pharmacy to get some diclofenac and a bean and cheese burrito because he was bloody starving before he made his way to Harry's flat and headed straight to the bathroom to take a look at his shoulder and abdomen.

What he saw made him pause.

 _Welcome home._

The note did not look new, and Tom could tell it was stuck to the bathroom mirror by a thread, probably the steam from Harry's showers wearing away at the adhesive. But the state of the bright green post-it note was not what had Tom frozen before the sink mirror.

It was the expression.

Home.

Tom had never had a place to call his own before, much less a home.

But as he stood there, frozen before the bathroom mirror, Tom realized, this _was_ home. Tom had heard many people try to define what home was. Some said it was where the heart was (which, if he was being honest, was an incredibly idiotic analogy as the heart resided inside a person's chest cavity), others said that home wasn't a place, it was a person (which again, how could a person be a place to live in), and once, in passing, he had heard that Home was that which when one was away, you just _miss it_.

And that was the phrase that kept running over and over in rapid little circles in his head. Because Tom _had_ missed being able to come back to the flat, he had _missed_ seeing the cat scratches Harry liked to call writing on colorful pieces of paper stuck all over the place. He had missed the smell of warm coffee and burnt eggs when he woke up. He had missed all the little things.

And just like that, Tom's heart started hammering in his chest. Because this could only mean one thing. A thing that Tom was not yet ready to admit to himself, and probably wouldn't for a very long time, but the realization was suddenly _there_.

It took Tom a moment to decide what to do about it, but if he was being honest - which he always was - there was no choice that needed to be made really. The choice had been taken out of his hands the moment they were set in the same crib.

Quietly, Tom made his way back into their shared bedroom and crawled on the bed, mindful not to jostle the mattress lest he woke Harry up before pulling the covers and slid in beside the younger man, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his chest. Tom wasn't breathing, and he worried that his heart was beating so hard under his chest, he briefly worried its frantic beat would wake the sleeping man beside him.

When Harry began to stir, Tom worried he would be shoved out of the bed, and that all he would see would be shock and disgust in the eyes of his best friend. After all, there was no guarantee that Harry even felt the same way as he did, who was to say this whole living arrangement was nothing more than Harry offering a friend a helping hand.

Harry hummed tiredly shifting as to mold himself to Tom's body comfortably. "Your feet are cold." the younger man breathed out before going back to sleep. And just like that, Tom's heart, which was already trying to beat its way out of his chest, stopped for half a second before picking up a steady rhythm.

"I suppose that's your fault." Tom breathed. "That should teach you to do the laundry more than once a month," he admonished, tucking his feet away from Harry's leg only for him to reach out with his own to pull his feet closer and trapping them between them.

"I'll warm them up, then," Harry muttered.

Tom froze for a second before relaxing. "You do that."


End file.
